


Weaponry

by undernightlight



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Cute, M/M, bear is the best dog, john feels insecure, needs reassurance, rinch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 21:04:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13443357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undernightlight/pseuds/undernightlight
Summary: He was tired, physically and mentally drained, and he needed to stop, stop for a while and think. He had always dealt with things personally, like there was no other way to deal with them, because that was how he was, that was the shape the CIA and military had beat him into. He hated it sometimes, but it was too late to change him now.





	Weaponry

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a long time ago, way before I finished the show, which was quite a while ago. I've never posted this before, so I thought I'd post this here, since I have finally have an Ao3 account.

John was walking back to the library slower than he normally did: he didn’t seem to have his usual energy to care at that moment in time. 

He was tired, physically and mentally drained, and he needed to stop, stop for a while and think. The number had left him physically tired, with a sore back and bruises he knew would be there in the morning. Mentally, he would’ve been fine if it wasn’t for something that was said to him. One of the men, causing harm to the number had said something that seemed to remain with John; it echoed in his head and he couldn’t seem to shake it off, and he didn’t know why.

 

“If you think anyone wants you for your charming personality, you’re naive. They only want you because of what you can do. You’re expendable. You’re replaceable. You are nothing to whoever it is other than brute force; you are a weapon and never anything else.”

 

John knew they were only trying to unsettle him and, at the time, it did nothing, but now he was alone in one of the busiest cities in the world, and he had nothing else to do but to analyse what was said to him. He could feel the words being absorbed into his skin, and he felt powerless to stop it, he couldn’t help it. He felt that way anyway sometimes, but it came and passed like indigestion, but this felt different, felt permanent. A knot tied itself around his stomach, making him sick and it made him shake. A knot tied itself around his lungs, and his breathing faltered as he stepped. A knot tied itself around his heart, and he could feel the life being drained away with every beat.

He had always dealt with things personally, like there was no other way to deal with them, because that was how he was, that was the shape the CIA and military had beat him into. He hated it sometimes, but it was too late to change him now. These feeling he had felt them all before, all alone and when his mind was free and unoccupied by tasks and lives; he needed to be doing things to keep his mind busy and out of the darker corners of his consciousness.

The feelings had lessened since meeting Harold; he had given John a purpose again, something he needed to restore any kind of normality and stability in his life, and John could never express how grateful he was, even if he wanted to. Jokes and his sarcastic tone came out easy, it was second nature, he had no problem speaking when things weren’t serious, when they didn’t matter, but when he knew people were listening to exactly what he said, when his opinion meant something and was even possibly valued, he couldn’t speak. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was because he had spent so long pretending to be someone else, anyone else, that when being himself was what was needed, it was hard, unexpected, and he didn’t know what to do.

Even if words could be spoken, there would never be enough worlds, would never be the right words, to fully express how grateful he is to Harold for all that he has done. John knew that if Harold hadn’t come along soon, he would’ve been dead by the end of the month.

Harold was something else to John, something he couldn’t put his finger on and he didn’t know why. He had an idea; he had never felt so close to someone, he had never trusted someone like this for a long time, not since Jessica, and it scared him that the feelings that he had for her were not dissimilar to those feelings he held for his friend. Friend. That was what Harold was, but something told John that he wanted more, and he didn’t know which part of him said that, but it was said loud enough sometimes that that was all he could hear. He would fight against the voice, but some days, he couldn’t, and some days he didn’t want to. He wanted to believe that the possibilities for life were endless, like Harold always said, that you make your own path, and that he had some say in if the path he walked down would be his alone, or one that he could share.

He could see the library now, looking dark and derelict as usual. He wanted to shake his mind clear of everything, he used to be able to do that when it mattered, but for whatever reason, he couldn’t at that moment. He decided on the next best option: to pretend. He would walk in, hang his coat up the same way he always did, and smile as he walked over and pulled the picture off the plastic board. He would smile at Harold and possibly make a joke about something, see if there was anything else to do, then either hang around or go home. That was what he did.

So once he had unlocked the gate and walked up the stairs, he hung his coat up on the same peg of the coat rack he always did and walked over to the board with a smile and peeled the picture away.

“I assume it went smoothly? I lost your connection for a while,” Finch asked from his desk, only briefly looking up from the monitor, but then continued typing whatever it was that he was doing.

“Same as always.” John was glad that the connection was lost for a while. It was convenient that when the connection dropped, the asshole had really started to speak. John knew Finch hadn’t heard a word that was said to him, he knew Finch didn’t know the words circling his head, but that didn’t make it any easier. There were donuts on the desk, and John took one, not because he wanted one, he still felt sick, but because he always took a donut when they were there and he didn’t want to seem off, for Harold’s sake, not just his own.

“Anything else to do?” John asked.

“Not yet, I believe, but you’re welcome to stay if you wish, I’m sure Bear could use a playmate.”

Now that Harold had said that, John had to stay. If he had said no, that he was going home, Finch would’ve found that strange, as he always enjoyed playing with Bear, and was always happy to sit with Bear for hours just for company, so that’s what John decided he would do.

“I’ll play with Bear,” John said, crouching down to stroke the dog who lay on his bed, but perked up when he felt contact. He instantly seemed to have bounds of energy, something John wished he had. But it seemed that Bear’s energy was not boundless and after less than twenty minutes, Bear went back to his bed by Harold’s feet. John worried that maybe his bad energy affected the dog somehow.

He sat down in an office chair in their main space, slightly in the corner, diagonal to Harold. He didn't know what to do, he didn't know what to think.

“Mr Reese, are you alright?” Harold asked, “You seem rather distracted.”

“I'm fine Finch.”

Harold seemed sceptical, but turned back to his screen nonetheless. But John was not fine, far from it, and after a few silent moments, he spoke, not really realising he was doing it before the words left his mouth.

“Am I weapon to you?” Harold instant stopped his fingers, stopped pressing keys and turned to John, giving him his full attention.

“A weapon?” Harold was unsure exactly what John was asking. But John didn't speak, only sighed, then proceeded to stand. Only when he began walking away, eyes to the ground, he said:

“It's nothing, I'll see you tomorrow.”

But Harold knew this was serious, he knew something was wrong the moment John walked through the door, but he didn't want to pry, didn't want to force himself involved into John’s personal situations. He would be there for John, but John needed to talk to him first. Harold called out to him before he could leave.

“Mr Reese...John,” he said, and it was his first name that stopped him, and while John stood there, Harold stood himself and continued, “If you're asking if your skill set is valued, then yes. If you're asking if you were recruited on that, then yes. But if you're asking if the only reason you're here, the only reason you're still here, is because of that skill set, then no. You are more than that.”

“Am I though?” His voice was quite, vulnerable, exposed. He knew he sounded pained, he didn’t mean to sound that way, but it did before he could stop it. He internally cursed himself for it, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

“You are.” Harold’s voice was in deep contrast with John’s. He spoken a sharp, commanding tone, as if those two words alone could convince John, but his voice held kindness and sincerity and concern, all concern for John, and he couldn’t take it.

John could feel the emotions bubble within the pit of his stomach, he could feel it through his blood, and he didn’t like it, this isn’t who was supposed to be. He physically lashed out, outstretching his left arm and punching the wall hard with a closed fist. He hear a small gasp, and from the corner of his eye, he could see how close Harold was to him, how close his fist was to Harold’s face, how close he had been to hurting Harold, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. But John couldn’t move, his body wouldn’t let him, and his hand remained pressed against the wood beneath his knuckles. But Harold seemed less phased than John, and he ducked under his arm to appear in front of him, rather close to him, looking up at him, though John couldn't lift his eye off of Harold’s brogues.

“Whatever it is that you’re thinking, I would like you to tell me. I want to help you as much as possible, but I can’t if you won’t let me.” Harold’s face dropped when he spoke. He had realised how close he was, but he didn’t want to move away. He could feel John’s breathing, see the tension in his muscles, hear him thinking.

John lowered his arm, tried to move away, but Harold caught him before he could move, grabbing John’s open jacket in his hands, gripping onto each side tightly, preventing him from going anywhere. John scrunched his eyes tight, drew his mouth closed so firmly it almost hurt. He knew he could easily break away, yank the jacket from Harold’s grip, or take the jacket off and leave without it, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything but stand there, with Harold so close to him that their chests were almost touching.

“John,” Harold said to him, quietly and intimately, “Whatever it is that is pulsing round your mind, I sincerely hope that it hasn’t changed how you view yourself with our partnership. You are my dearest friend, the only person I care deeply enough for that I would risk my life without hesitation, purely because it is you. Your skill set is useful, in this line of work, but there are others just as qualified on paper, but no one else would have ever been right for this position other than you. I don't know how to convince you, but I will spend as long as it takes to show you how valuable you are to me, in every way.”

John looked at him, finally, dragging his eyes up from the floor. They were close, so close, and John’s mind proceeded to stop. So John acted on instinct and desire, and leaned down and kissed Harold.

It was gentle at first, Harold still surprised, but it was when he realised that what was happening was true, not a dream nor fantasy, that he responded with power. His hands gripped onto John’s jacket tighter and pulling him closer, impossibly closer, that there was no space between them, and John brought his arms up to wrap around Harold’s shoulders, holding the back of his neck and tangling his fingers in his hair.

But it didn't last long until Harold stopped and pulled his face away, but he didn't move back. His hands loosened their grip and slid between the layers of John’s jacket and shirt, resting close to the small of his back. They were both breathless, but Harold managed some words.

“Mr Reese, I do hope this isn't some form of casual...entanglement. I would prefer my feeling not to be played with.”

John felt hurt that Harold would even suggest something like that, but under the circumstances, he could see the confused, the doubt and where it was forming in Harold's mind.

“I assure you that I've wanted to do that for a long time.”

“What stopped you?”

**Author's Note:**

> Did you enjoy it? Surprisingly, I don't actually ship them romantically within the show, but I can definitely see why people do. I ship it more in a platonic way, a relationship where one can't survive without the other. But I did enjoy writing this from what I remember. Let me know what you think, if you want :)


End file.
